Nobody knows the truth about my birth. Not the courtiers, not the brothel girls, not even the men who throw coins at my feet. If they did, the King would be dragged to court, Kiaran would be executed, and I'd be sold to the highest bidder.
Sex between a human and a god is forbidden. The system doesn't forgive it, not even for kings. For ordinary men, the punishment is death—swift and public. For kings, the rules blur, but the scandal would be enough to destroy a throne. So my father did what all men in power do when faced with their mistakes: he buried it. He buried me.
That's why I've been here my whole life, growing up in the shadows of a brothel. I'm not Princess Bahari, the golden child who sits on Aranbiya's throne. I'm the castaway princess, the King's dirty secret. His mistake.
But secrets have a way of refusing to stay buried.
The brothel was alive with noise, its air thick with the cloying scent of incense. Laughter and drunken murmurs mingled with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of music. The room was dimly lit, the flickering lanterns casting long, twisting shadows across the walls. I moved gracefully among the patrons, my body swaying to the rhythm of the music, my veil floating like a wisp of smoke.
By day, I danced for the men who came here to forget their troubles. They threw coins, jewels, and drunken compliments at my feet, their gazes lingering too long on my skin. By night, I shed the veil and silks, donning the garb of a rogue to free slaves from the chains that bound them. It was a double life, exhausting and dangerous, but it was the only way I knew to fight back against the system that had tried to destroy me.
For as long as I could remember, this brothel had been my cage. A gilded one, perhaps, but a cage all the same. My father had struck a deal with the Madam, ensuring that my body would remain untouched. I was to dance, to entertain, but never to be sold. I was "high-value merchandise," as the Madam of the brothel, Odette liked to say.
To the patrons, I was a prize they could never claim. To the Madam, I was an asset to be protected. And to myself? I was just a girl trying to survive.
I spun and twirled, the music carrying me like a wave. The veil covering my face floated with every movement, adding a touch of mystery to my performance. Each step told a story—a story of defiance, of sorrow, of resilience. When the final note faded, I flipped the veil away to reveal my face and bowed deeply. The room erupted into applause.
"Beautiful as always, my dear," Madam Odette called from the staircase. She stood tall and regal, her kaftan embroidered with gold and her headwrap adorned with jewels that caught the light. "Our patrons are lucky to have you."
Her voice carried an edge of authority that silenced the room. She turned to the crowd, a practiced smile on her lips. "If any of you wish to enjoy private time with one of our girls, please let me know. We have fine demi-girls to suit all tastes."
The air buzzed with excitement as patrons whispered among themselves, their eyes scanning the room. But one man at the back slammed his glass onto the table, the sharp crack silencing everyone.
"I wish you'd stop saying that damn statement!" the man bellowed, his voice slurred with drink.
Odette's smile faltered, her brows furrowing in concern. "My good sir, is there something we can do to ease your frustration?"
The man staggered to his feet, his beer belly shaking with every step. He pointed a thick, trembling finger directly at me. "It's her! Every time I try to purchase private time with her, I'm denied. Fulfill our desires, my ass!"
The room fell silent, all eyes turning toward me. My muscles tensed, but I kept my expression neutral, my hands resting lightly at my sides.
Odette's gaze darkened, her fingers pressing together as she spoke. "That one is not for sale," she said coldly. "She is high-value merchandise, under the orders of the King. Her body will remain untouched."
The man's face turned red with fury as he stomped toward me, his sour breath and unwashed stench filling the air.
Before he could take another step, the air in the room shifted.
The warmth of the brothel was replaced by something colder, sharper—a weight that pressed against the skin like the edge of a blade. The clamor of voices and clinking glasses faded into silence as all eyes turned toward Kiaran.
He stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. His ruby-red eyes glowed faintly, catching the light like embers in the dark. The polished steel of his breastplate gleamed, the coiled serpent of the kingdom's crest seeming to come alive under the flickering lanterns.
And then, he summoned the Gae Bolga. An ancient spear said to have been forged in blood and fire, its barbed tip a promise of death.
The air around him rippled, as though reality itself bent to his will. A low hum filled the room, vibrating in the bones of everyone present. The spear materialized in his hand, its surface dark and gleaming, etched with veins that pulsed faintly like living tissue. The barbed tip seemed to drink in the light, casting shadows that danced across the walls.
The room grew colder still, a biting chill that made the patrons shrink back in their seats. Even the drunken man stopped in his tracks, his anger faltering as his eyes locked onto the weapon.
Kiaran's voice was calm, almost soft, but it carried an edge that froze the air.
"You've had your fun," he said, his accent curling around each word like smoke. "Now sit down, before you lose something you can't replace."
The man's face turned an unnatural shade of pale, his bravado crumbling like sand under a wave. He stumbled back a step, his eyes darting to the Gae Bolga before flicking back to Kiaran's face. "I—I didn't mean nothing by it," he stammered, his voice shaking. "Just... just a joke, yeah?"
Kiaran didn't blink. His gaze stayed fixed on the man, cold and unrelenting. "Do I look like I'm laughing?"
The room stayed deathly still, the tension so thick it felt like the walls themselves were holding their breath. Finally, the man let out a strangled laugh, a pitiful sound that barely masked his fear, and sank back into his seat. He waved a hand weakly, as if to dismiss the whole encounter. "No harm done, right?" he muttered, his voice trailing off as he avoided Kiaran's eyes.
Kiaran didn't move until the man's glass hit the table with a hollow clink, his trembling hands clutching it as though it might save him. Only then did Kiaran lower the Gae Bolga, its barbed tip sinking slowly toward the floor. The spear dissolved into smoke, its presence vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared, but the weight of Kiaran's presence lingered.
With a final glance at the man, Kiaran turned and stepped back into the shadows, his movements deliberate and unhurried, as though the entire encounter had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. His broad frame disappeared into the dim light, but the room remained quiet, the tension refusing to dissipate.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my hands trembling slightly at my sides.
So this—this is the power of a God. My fingers trembled, and for the first time, I understood the gulf between us. Even with divine blood in my veins, I could never command the fear he does—effortlessly, completely.
The patrons returned to their drinks and hushed conversations, but their eyes darted toward Kiaran with a new wariness.
"Even Madam Odette, who ruled this place with the poise of a queen, kept her gaze on Kiaran for a moment longer than usual. Her fingers twitched at her sides, a rare crack in her practiced composure."
He always had that effect on people.
I caught his gaze as he leaned against the far wall, his blood-red eyes meeting mine. He gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod, and I returned it, the barest hint of a smile tugging at my lips. It was our unspoken understanding, the silent language we'd developed over the years. He didn't need to say anything to remind me that I was safe—not here, not under his watch.
But safety was a fragile thing in Aranbiya.
As the brothel's noise began to swell again, my thoughts drifted to the mission ahead.
Still, I couldn't shake the unease that clung to my skin like a second layer. This life—this gilded cage of veils and secrets—was a fragile balance. One wrong move, one careless mistake, and everything my father had worked so hard to bury would come crashing down. And I would be the one buried beneath it.
Kiaran's voice echoed in my mind, calm and steady, as it always was: "No harm will come to you. Not while I'm here."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that the quiet strength in his words was enough to shield me from the storm that loomed on the horizon. But I'd lived long enough to know the truth.
Storms don't ask permission before they destroy everything in their path.
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